Deep in the warm shade of the forest, a small commotion rose from the center of the troop. Little Bilo, the youngest baby monkey in the family, had spent the whole morning rolling around in leaves, dust, and bits of fruit scraps that had fallen from the trees. His tiny face, belly, and arms were covered in smudges, and his fur stuck up in every direction. To him, it was just fun—but to his mother, Mera, it was a disaster.
Mera spotted him wobbling toward her and gasped in disbelief. She clicked her tongue sharply and scolded him with a long, irritated chatter. The older monkeys glanced over, already recognizing that familiar tone—Mera was upset again. Poor little Bilo froze, lowering his head as if he understood that he had caused trouble.
Without wasting a second, Mera grabbed him by the arm and pulled him closer. Though she was not gentle, her actions came from a place of instinct and worry rather than real anger. She began wiping his body with fast, rough strokes, using dry leaves and her own hands to clean his fur. Each swipe made Bilo squeak softly in complaint. His little limbs curled inwards as he tried to stay still, confused by why playtime had suddenly turned into such a strict cleaning session.
Mera continued scrubbing until every dusty patch was gone. Only once his fur was somewhat tidy did she finally slow down, her irritation softening into tired affection. Bilo looked up at her with wide eyes, unsure whether to feel relieved or sad.
With a sigh, Mera pulled him close, letting him cling to her belly again. Despite her rough cleaning, she wrapped her tail around him protectively, reminding him—without words—that her care, even when strict, always came from love.
